


Say Something

by QuietLittleVoices



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Hopeful Ending, M/M, POV Merlin, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 14:23:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1431754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietLittleVoices/pseuds/QuietLittleVoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's leaving and there's nothing you can do about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say Something

The coffee is growing cold in your cup, your hand cupped loosely in the handle as you look out the window. The light that flows into the window is the kind that only exists at six AM when you’re supposed to be asleep. Bird song, cheerful in contrast to the somber mood in the kitchen, find their way through the cracks in the door, the cracks in your heart.

“I’m leaving,” he said.

That was three hours ago, when the darkness was met by the light like a barrier. When it was you and him against the world. You were too tired to fight, too weary of how long this was in coming.

“Say something,” he’d said.

You’d just looked at him blankly. “I’ve said everything I have.”

He sighed, looking up and away from you with his hands on his hips. You think that he was trying not to cry, but at the time you just thought he was exasperated with you. Maybe both things were true. Your kitchen was a silent tableau after that – you, the silent coffee drinker at the table, and him, the one about to leave.

After that, he’d gone upstairs, and less than an hour later you heard the door slam. A car started outside, and you’d listened to it drive away, the noise getting more and more faint.

You wait for the pain to set in, but it hasn’t yet, just a small cramp in your joints from sitting still too long. You move and dump out your coffee, but you don’t brew a new pot. You don’t go upstairs, not yet. Instead you turn on the radio and let the sounds of the talk show host fill the empty hallways. It doesn’t work – it only extenuates the loneliness – but you tell yourself it does. Because you know there’s no other way you’ll get through it, unless you start moving on right now.

 ~

You don’t cry, but you catch a glimpse of golden hair and you have to bite the inside of your cheek. Blond hair is common, you remind yourself. It’s the fifth time that day you’ve had to remind yourself that blond hair and blue eyes are common. You’re the anomaly, with dark hair, dark eyes; he was always woven from a summer day.

And then you really do see him, laughing. He’s got his arm around a girl, and she’s beautiful. Dark skin, hair large and frizzy, and laughing at whatever Arthur just said. You turn tail and run the other way.

 ~

He kisses you the next time you see him, in the dark at Morgana’s house. You couldn’t avoid his half-sister forever, because you were her friend, too, but you’d almost hoped he wouldn’t be there. Not that you could ask her not to invite him – no one could make Morgana do anything, and if you asked, she’d do the opposite, solely out of spite.

You let him. Let him push you against the closed door and work his hands under your shirt. You even kiss him back, give all you’re getting. This give and take is not something unfamiliar; it was the same game you always used to play. A dance.

“Say something,” he growls against your mouth.

You kiss him hard. And later, when he’s curled up in the bed and you’re pulling your clothes back on, you press a kiss against his hair and whisper, “Stay with me.”

And then you leave.

 ~

He shows up at the door of the house you used to share together, but for months now had just been your own. Empty halls, empty rooms. You’d been sleeping on the couch, with your clothes scattered between there and the washing machine.

He’s got two bags with him and he’s looking at you with red-rimmed eyes. You barely manage to stay still, on your side of the threshold.

“I heard you,” he says, broken voice barely over a whisper. “Did you… mean it?” He’s not begging – Arthur, the Arthur you know, hates to beg – but he just might be pleading. _Imploring_.

You don’t say anything; instead, you step to the side and gesture for him to follow. He nods and pulls his bags in after him.

 ~

Later that night, you’re pressed against the bedroom door again.

“Say something,” he’s saying into your mouth, your throat. Mouthing it against any skin he could find.

You find the pain, the energy, the _life_ that you’d been missing at three AM in the kitchen, while darkness waged war with the light. You take his hand; you hold him tight. And you whisper, “Stay.”


End file.
